by Tommy Dakar
The van crept unnoticed into the dimly lit service alley and parked up against a high brick wall. Unnoticed, because all attention was centred on the town square, where in a few minutes’ time a firework display would mark the end of the local fair. Two men climbed out of the van and hauled themselves up to the roof. They unhooked an aluminium ladder and a hold-all from the roof rack, working steadily, silently, with the co-ordinated movements of professionals. The ladder, padded in parts with sackcloth and secured to the top of the van by nylon ropes, was thrown over the brick wall. Carefully, avoiding the shards of broken glass that topped the wall, the two men climbed down into the back yard of the establishment, one of them with the hold-all on his back like a rucksack, his arms thrust through the handles. They waited.
The revellers filled the square, which was formed by the imposing façades of the Town Hall, All Saints Church, a Bank, and the Police Station. A large coffee bar on one corner supplied modern day bread and circus. They were all facing a temporary stage placed before the main doors of the Town Hall. Tonight, after the fireworks, there would be music.
As the clocks struck eleven, up went the first rockets, and down came the men’s sledgehammers, smashing into angels’ heads, into the swollen bellies of Phoenician urns, into daintily decorated porcelain garden lamps. In syncopated rhythm the rockets burst, showering the onlookers with myriad coloured sparks, as the gaily painted ceramics exploded into thousands of fragments, their varnished colours dying as quickly as embers in the darkness of the yard.
The fireworks ended sooner than the men had suspected - a question of municipal economics. But they had not finished yet. They waited for the band to strike up. With the first chords they would break into the main building itself, through the double metal doors, and devastate the exhibition room where the really valuable stuff was housed. Breathing heavily they leant on their hammers among the shattered earthenware for the music to start. An ear-piercing feedback stabbed the silence, followed by a large groan from the crowd. Technical problems. Three minutes later they were forced to admit defeat, there would be no more music tonight. They scrambled back up the ladder, stored their tools, and crept back out into the lights of the town.